Neglect
by Coopereid
Summary: Spencer feels as if he's been neglected by his teammates, and fallen out of favor with them. What happens when he has a week alone with his thoughts? Trigger warning: suicide attempt.
1. Chapter 1

Nobody on the team was surprised when Spencer had put in for a week's vacation time. He, much like Rossi, didn't enjoy down time, but everyone saw the job starting to take its toll on him.

On Friday afternoon, he packed his things into his satchel, snapping it shut.

"Enjoy the week off, Spence, you deserve it."

He gave her a quick wave and a nod, shouldering his bag and walking out.

"Does he even know what to do with time off, other than visit his mother?" Emily asked, watching him as he left.

JJ shrugged. "He doesn't have any plans to go to Vegas, so he obviously has some sort of game plan."

"Good for him, it's about damn time the kid learns to relax," Rossi said, walking by their desks and up to his office.

When Spencer arrived at his apartment, he closed the door behind him, locking it. He set his bag down on his chair and sat on his couch, running a hand over his face. He didn't have any particular plans for the week off, and requested it simply because he needed to get away from the job – specifically, away from the team. He understood that they were a family, and they always had his best interest in mind, but did they?

* * *

Lately, he'd started thinking about his so-called family, and how they functioned. Obviously, Hotch was the father, watching over everybody. Rossi was the uncle who came into the picture who was very protective over his nieces and nephews. Garcia was the bubbly, fun aunt who would visit on occasion, ready to take care of everyone. Emily was the serious older sister, while JJ was the more fun one, though he'd never want to be the person to cross either of them. Finally, there was Derek, the pain in the ass older brother. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if he cared more about protecting him, or finding new ways to aggravate him. That left him as the youngest, the little brother. Though by what he understood of families, the youngest usually got the most attention, he definitely didn't feel that way.

He thought back on his years at the BAU, and didn't see himself as the younger sibling that was cared for, and instead felt like the outcast. In his first few years at the BAU, they'd had the L.D.S.K. case, where Hotch had kicked the living daylights out of him. He understood the reasoning, and knew that Hotch knew he did, but didn't understand why he had to continue to kick him so hard. Afterward, it seemed the only person who cared was Hotch, and that was most likely out of guilt. He'd gone to the hospital alone after that case, and found out he had bruised a few of his ribs. He'd kept that hidden from the team, not wanting to seem like a bother or an inconvenience. Nobody had come up to him when he walked around carefully, an arm wrapped around his stomach, for more than a week.

Something that especially hurt, and nobody on the team really knew about, happened right before Elle left. After The Fisher King case, he knew that the one thing she needed was somebody to talk to, or simply someone to listen, so he decided to be that person for her. He'd gone to her hotel room and talked to her most of the night, and was extremely proud of himself for making progress with her. The next day, she shot an unsub in cold blood, and soon after resigned from the BAU. He couldn't help but feel responsible, thinking that if he had somehow said something else, she wouldn't have done it. The guilt of that ate him up inside even to this day.

Then, of course, there was the Tobias Hankel case. To him, it felt like nobody took notice to his injuries. He'd limped out of that graveyard and gone to the hospital in an ambulance. He was out of it, for the most part, but remembered Derek being there beside him, attempting to comfort him and tell him he'd be okay. He remained optimistic until he'd woken up alone in the hospital room, his foot wrapped in an ace bandage and a few stitches on the left side of his forehead. When he was released, JJ had been there to give him a ride to the airstrip, most likely out of overwhelming guilt for the two of them splitting up. He'd slept on the jet, woke up when they landed, and nobody offered him a ride home. He'd hoped that, maybe, after he missed a week of work, at the request of Hotch, they'd take notice and ask him how he was. Instead, he stood in the kitchen, awkwardly stirring the sugar into his coffee while Emily and Derek discussed Kurt Vonnegut at length. He shrugged it off, limping to his desk and sipping his coffee.

On the next couple of cases, he'd started having intense flashbacks, and even a few nightmares to join them. He'd shared a room with Derek, who took no notice to either of them. In fact, it seemed like nobody on the team noticed that he was slowly withdrawing from them and showing the symptoms of narcotic withdrawals. This was the time he decided to dig into his satchel, grab the vials of Dilaudid, and get another fix. He'd had some hope in New Orleans, when Gideon had approached him about his problem and offered his assistance. However, a handful of cases later, Gideon had taken off on him. The one man he'd been able to trust with everything since joining the BAU was gone, and didn't even have the decency to tell him face to face. All he had was a hand-written letter, which he admitted he couldn't read very well with Gideon's chicken scratch. He never really had an answer as to why he left, but didn't want to be a bother trying to find him and ask.

While they were in Oregon looking for the psychiatrist who killed people with their fears, Emily had approached him about Gideon's letter. The conversation had started soft and innocent and he was optimistic, hoping that he'd finally had somebody to talk to. He also felt this was an opportunity to apologize to her for when he'd snapped at her while going through withdrawals. Instead? He felt as if he was being interrogated and belittled for being the only person Gideon had written to as a goodbye. She also made him feel like an imbecile, telling him to read the letter again. He had an eidetic memory, he could've recited it for her right then and there if she'd given him the opportunity. In fact, she'd somehow found a way to make him feel guilty for the fact that Gideon only wrote to him. It wasn't his fault – he couldn't control what Gideon did when he'd suffered his major depressive episode.

When he and Emily had gone into the underground cult in Colorado, he understood the team being concerned about her. After all, she did take the heat and reveal herself as an agent for his safety. The part that made it difficult for him was the fact that nobody cared how he felt about the situation. Honestly, he was sick to his stomach that he had to act as if he understood everything they were doing, and it made him disgusted with himself that he went along with it. He had been right outside the doors when the explosion went off, and had breathed in a lot of the fumes. As he stepped up to the team, he gave Emily a hug, but then sat on the front steps while everyone else had checked her over. He didn't even allow himself to be checked on by the paramedics – if the team didn't see that something was wrong, he didn't see the point in getting looked over. They'd probably just think he was grabbing for attention from them and trying to steal attention from Emily, who was much more visibly hurt than he was.

The most painful one had to be when he had been poisoned with Anthrax. He had taken the Cipro that morning along with the team, but it had never been tested with the current strain. He could've died, but he kept himself in danger for the sake of the case. He tore apart Doctor Nichols' lab in his garage, looking for the clues until he was so affected, he couldn't take a deep breath without coughing. Derek had offered to stay with him the entire time, but he knew his mind was off with Hotch, trying to catch Chad Brown. He dismissed him and was cleaned up, given a pair of scrubs, and taken to the hospital in the ambulance. He'd started coughing up blood and was growing more disoriented by the second. When he couldn't complete his words, he knew he was probably looking at the end. Something in him couldn't bring himself to care, but another part of him kept fighting, saying that he had gone through way too much to go out that way.

He woke up in the hospital, confused. Only one member of his team had bothered to come see him. He had almost died and he was really only worth one person being there? That wasn't very fair. They could've at least visited or checked in on him, instead of sending one person as the messenger. He wondered if Derek had drawn the short straw and was stuck staying with him while the rest of the team obviously had better things to do. He'd requested that he stay in the hospital an extra day, hoping for anyone to take notice, but when nobody visited on that extra day, he gave up hope of them caring.

From that point on, he stopped getting upset or feeling insulted when the team didn't seem to care, because it was quite obvious they didn't. They called themselves a family, but he knew who mattered and who didn't. When Hotch had been attacked by the Reaper, he stayed on the job while Emily was with their superior at the hospital. He did the job of three people on his own, and even shot down the unsub, but not before he'd put a bullet straight through his leg. Doctor Barton had attempted to check on him, but he dismissed it, having him check on the unsub instead. He knew that the murderer lying in the grass was more cared for than he was. As the rest of the team pulled up to the house in the SUV, he sighed, preparing himself to not show his emotions. When they faked concern in his eyes, he told them about Hotch, knowing that he's really who they should worry about. At the hospital, he'd gone up to surgery alone, and suffered that night in pain, considering he refused to have any narcotics in his system. JJ had gone in briefly to check on him, but knew it had to have been out of pity. Everyone else's minds were with Hotch, which he preferred. He'd rather they worry about the person that deserves it than someone like him who always seems to find himself in trouble.

He'd ended up confiding in Emily with a big secret of his: his headaches. After she'd died, he also confided in Derek. It finally felt as if there was someone to take notice and be there for him. Instead, he told them, and the subject was never brought up again. There wasn't so much as a couple aspirin left on his desk with a glass of water. They just acted as if they'd never been told. Even after Emily came back, there wasn't even a single check-in. He shrugged it off, knowing that they'd finally confirmed what he'd thought all along: he was the neglected member of the family, who nobody ever really cared for. He was just 'adopted' into the family, and everyone pretended to care for him because they felt they had to.

He laid back on his couch, wiping away the stray tear he didn't notice had fallen. He bit his lip, pulling his knees to his chest. Yes, he'd requested the week off of work, but nobody knew why, and nobody bothered to ask. If they had, he would've been upfront: he'd have told them how he felt, and told them he was contemplating an end, or at least a way to make himself feel better. He didn't care if he was three years clean – he didn't see the point if there wasn't anybody there to appreciate his progress or give a single damn.


	2. Chapter 2

On his first full day off, Spencer didn't even leave his bed. Sure, he left to get up and go to the bathroom, but the rest of his day was curled up in a ball in the middle of his bed. He didn't get up for food or a drink, or even to grab his glasses and read a book. After everything he'd thought of the day before, the truth of it all sank in and he didn't see a point in putting in an effort.

He thought about giving up on his vacation and going back to work. He'd hoped that sitting at home with his thoughts for a while would make things more clear for him, and help him become happier. Instead, he was growing more upset, realizing just how insignificant he was to his 'family'. While other members of the team were on vacation, he'd call and check in on them, just to see how they were doing and hope that their joy would carry over to him. He noticed now that it was probably more bothersome than interesting to them, but deep inside, he wished that someone would remember that and give him a call to ask how he was. This didn't happen on the first day, the second, or the third. He figured they were probably busy or on a case and didn't want to bother his vacation time, though part of his mind nagged him that they just didn't care.

The fourth day was when it really started to affect him. He'd gotten out of bed and curled up on the couch, watching specials on the history channel and game shows. He grew tired of them, mostly of the stupidity of the contestants, and had to turn it off. He tried focusing on reading some of his books, but instead his mind was constantly harassing him that his so-called family didn't miss him or take any notice that he was gone.

The fifth day was when he finally decided what he was going to do. Since he was irrelevant to the team, he didn't see a point in being around for them anymore. His mind wasn't something to be wasted, but if nobody was going to appreciate him for what he had to say, there wasn't any reason to stick around. There were plenty of geniuses out there that the FBI could recruit, and they're probably more personable and likable than he is anyway.

He walked to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the butcher block. He'd walked in on Nathan Harris after he'd done this, surely he could do it himself much more accurately. He'd studied the human body long enough to know what he needed to do. He bit his lip, walking to the bathroom and closing the door. He curled up in his bathtub, looking between the knife and his wrist several times, trying to gain the courage to take the last step.

* * *

Meanwhile at the BAU, Derek walked into the bullpen. "Anybody know how Reid's doing?"

Emily shook her head. "Haven't heard from him since Friday afternoon when he took off. He seemed to be in a rush to get wherever he was going, so good for him for getting this place out of his head for a while."

"Did he say anything about his plans to either of you? Hotch and Rossi are clueless."

JJ thought for a minute. "Nothing. I just know he sent his mom a long letter on Friday before he left, and he said he wasn't going to visit her for a while."

Derek cocked an eyebrow. "You're saying he has a week off and he's not visiting his mother?"

She shrugged. "He obviously has something big planned for this week if isn't going to Vegas."

He leaned against Spencer's desk, calling him on his cell phone. When there was no answer, he attempted to call his house phone. When that too went unanswered, he raised an eyebrow. "Have either of you known him to not answer his phone?"

"Not in the years I've known him," JJ admitted. "Do you think something's up?"

He looked around on Spencer's desk, hoping to find any indication of where he'd gone or where he was going.

Garcia walked by. "What's going on, brown sugar?"

"Hey, Baby Girl. Have you heard from Reid?"

She shook her head. "Not since Friday. I have all of your names in my system to alert me if you're on any outgoing flights and trying to leave me, and as far as I know, he's still here."

"Hold up. You _track_ us?" Emily asked.

"I have to know that my babies are okay at all times. After _somebody_ took off to Boston to take on an unsub single handedly, can you blame me?"

JJ smiled slightly, looking over at Emily who simply said "Point taken."

"So he's still here?"

"Did I stutter? Yes, Derek Morgan, he's still here. Why?"

"I just tried calling both of his numbers and there's no answer, and _nobody's_ heard from him since Friday."

She paled. "You don't think something's wrong with Boy Wonder, do you?"

He sighed. "I'm going to stop by his place, see if he's there, just to be sure he's doing okay."

JJ bit her lip. "Let us know if you find out anything?"

He nodded, taking his car keys out of his pocket, running for the elevator.

* * *

Spencer glanced down at his wrist before leaning his head back on the tub, closing his eyes. He could swear he heard a faint knocking sound, but shrugged it off. He was ridiculous to think that anybody would be there to check on him. He just relaxed his body, sighing, waiting for all of it to be over.

Morgan knocked on the door to his apartment. "Hey, Pretty Boy, are you in there?" His car was parked in front of the apartment complex, so if he'd left, he'd have to be on foot. Considering his bad knee, he wouldn't have gotten very far. He knocked again, harder this time. "Spencer? It's Morgan, are you home?"

He saw the newspapers from the past few days sitting on the doormat. He turned to a neighbor who was exiting her apartment. "Excuse me, Miss?"

She turned to him. "Yes?"

"Have you seen anyone come in or out of this apartment in the past few days?"

She thought back, going through the keys on her keyring. "I haven't seen him leave since he got home on Friday. He tends to be a shut-in, so nobody's too concerned."

"Does he usually collect his paper in the morning?"

"Every day with his cup of coffee." She found the right key, locking her front door. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "No, thank you."

He waited for her to walk away and counted the papers on the ground: 5. That means he hasn't even opened the door to his apartment since he got home Friday afternoon. He knocked once more, pounding on the door. "Spencer, it's Morgan. Open up."

* * *

When he was once again greeted with silence, he sighed. He needed to know that his co-worker was okay. He took a few steps back and kicked the door down, making a mental note to tell the super on his way out. He looked around the apartment and saw something he wasn't expecting: clutter. There were books tossed all over the floor, with no care taken whatsoever. There were messy dishes in the sink that looked as if they'd been there for over a week, and his clothes were thrown around the house.

"Spencer?" he walked around the small apartment. He wasn't in the kitchen, the living room, or even the bedroom, where the bed looked like it hadn't been made in months: it seemed like he simply slept on top of the messy sheets. Finally, he turned to the bathroom door, knocking. "Spencer?"

Spencer was sure he heard something that time, but didn't have the energy to move. He kept his head back, slowly dozing off.

Derek sighed. He'd obviously be paying the super back for two busted doors today. He took a few steps back in the cramped apartment, kicking the door open with ease. It hadn't occurred to him to check if the door was unlocked first, and he felt somewhat idiotic. He walked into the bathroom and saw Spencer, sitting in a pool of his own blood in the bathtub, his wrist gashed open.

He sprung into action, lifting him out of the tub and leaning him against it, grabbing his wrist and applying pressure.

"Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?"

Spencer whimpered softly in response, not having it in him to speak.

Derek grabbed a nearby towel, pressing it against the wound. With his other hand, he took out his phone, shakily dialing Garcia.

"The great and wonderful Penelope Garcia at your service, gorgeous."

He sighed. "Penelope, I need you to send an ambulance to Spencer's apartment _now_."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is this a joke? Derek Morgan, you're not very funny."

"Do I sound like I'm joking? He needs an ambulance. NOW." He hung up the phone, turning to Spencer. "Stay with me, do you hear me? Stay with me, Spencer Reid."

Spencer sighed, attempting to keep his eyes open and give him a response, but had no such luck. He hoped he at least had it in him to say goodbye to the one person who bothered to check on him.


	3. Chapter 3

Garcia bit her lip, dialing 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

She sniffed, exhaling. "I'm Penelope Garcia, I'm calling from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. I need an ambulance sent to an agent's house right away. His name is Spencer Reid and he lives at 412 Washington Street, apartment number 23. I don't know the details, but I need an ambulance there _yesterday_."

"Calm down, Miss. An ambulance is being sent."

"I'm sorry, did you just tell me to _calm down_? Nobody has seen or heard from one of our agents in five, yes, FIVE days, and I'm told to have an ambulance sent to his apartment immediately. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to panic and worry about my family member until I know he's okay, and then _maybe_ I'll consider calming down, do you hear me?" She forcibly hung up the phone, getting up and running out to the bullpen.

"Hey, Pen," JJ said, hearing her heels before looking up at her. She saw the look on her face and her smile was wiped away. "What?"

She bit her lip, unable to keep her tears from falling. "I just got a call from Derek – he… he needed an ambulance sent to Reid's apartment. He didn't tell me what was wrong or if he was okay or anything." She wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I called for the ambulance and it's on the way, but I don't know any details. He sounded really worried."

Emily shot up from her seat, grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair and pulling it on. "Did they say what hospital they're taking him to?"

She shook her head. "But… I'm going to assume it's Holy Trinity, it's the one closest to his apartment building and if it's as serious as Derek made it sound-"

"Get in my car," Emily ordered, grabbing her car keys and purse and rushing to the elevator. Garcia followed, making a quick stop at her lair to grab her belongings.

* * *

JJ stayed frozen in her seat, unsure of how to process the information. She had looked at Spencer as her younger brother, and though she teased him, was the person she cared most for on the team. He'd come to her crying after Emily had 'died', and yes he'd been angry when she came back, but they still maintained their friendship, or at least she'd thought they had. She finally got up, walking to Hotch's office and knocking softly.

Hotch glanced up at her. "What's wrong?"

She hadn't noticed before, but her body was shaking and she'd started crying. "Garcia… she got a call from Derek. He went to check on Reid since nobody had heard from him and he asked her to send an ambulance. According to his tone on the phone with her, it's pretty bad."

He grabbed his phone, calling Rossi.

"Yes, Aaron?"

Hotch sighed. "It's Reid. Something's wrong and he's on his way to the hospital."

"I'll drive."

Hotch hung up, looking at JJ as he packed up the things on his desk. "Rossi's going to drive us in, he's the most level-headed. I assume that Garcia and Prentiss are already on their way?"

JJ wiped her eyes, chewing on her lip and nodding. "What do you think is wrong?"

Hotch sighed. "I'm not sure. I'm hoping that Garcia overreacted and didn't read Morgan's voice as well as she could have."

She sighed, looking out to the hall and seeing Rossi walk out of his office toward them. She walked to her desk, pulling on her jacket, zipping it up and grabbing her purse. She waited in the elevator, holding it for them.

* * *

Derek rode along in the ambulance with the EMTs, leaving his bathroom a bloody mess. He kept a close eye on the heart monitor he'd been hooked up to, thankful that his heart was still beating. He knew there was nothing positive in this experience, but he was happy he got there when he did. One of the EMTs mentioned that if he'd gotten there a few minutes later, he might not have been able to be revived. He reached out for Spencer's hand, squeezing it.

"I'm here, Spencer. Don't forget that. I'll always be here."

He knew that Spencer was out cold, but hoped that he would be able to hear him. He didn't care that the front of his shirt was doused in his blood, or that he looked as if he'd found his way out of a horror film. All he cared about was the fact that he found him in the nick of time and he'd be able to walk out of the hospital in a few days, though a lot of questions were still unanswered.

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital, they brought Spencer to an exam room. Derek tried following them, but was immediately stopped by a nurse.

"You can't go back there, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"Are you family?"

He sighed. "He doesn't _have_ any family. He's alone out here and needs somebody back there with him."

"I'm going to need you to stay in the waiting room. Someone will come get you once he's stabilized."

He groaned, walking to a nearby bathroom and washing hands. He hadn't noticed just how much blood he'd gotten on him. At this point, he really didn't care, so long as Spencer was going to survive this. He scrubbed them clean for five minutes before his hands were free of the crimson color, and he walked out to the waiting room, sitting down and resting his head in his hands. He didn't mind that his shirt was completely bloodstained, or that there was also blood on his jeans. He just wanted confirmation that Spencer was okay, mentally and physically.

* * *

The rest of the team made it to the hospital ten minutes later. JJ ran up to the desk, slamming her hand on it.

"Hello? Somebody?"

One of the nurses looked up at her. "Yes?"

"I'm here to see Spencer Reid, I'm his sister. Where is he?"

The nurse sighed. "The doctor's checking him over now. I'll let you know when you can go back there."

JJ groaned. "That's not good enough. I need to see him."

Emily wrapped her arms around JJ, thanking the nurse and walking her over to a chair, sitting her down.

Hotch scanned the waiting room and saw Derek, eyes closed in silent prayer. He walked over and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around him and squeezing his shoulder.

Derek sighed, blinking and looking up at him. Hotch could see that he'd been crying, though he couldn't say anything, as the rest of the team was just as worried.

"Is he okay?"

He contemplated the question. If he meant 'alive', then yes, he was okay. If he meant actually 'okay', there was no answer. He bit his lip, unable to look his superior in the eye. "He tried to kill himself," he mumbled, putting his hands over his face and leaning back in the chair.

Hotch saw the blood on his shirt, as did the rest of the team.

"Derek," Garcia gasped out. "What happened?"

He sighed again, preparing himself to tell the story. He watched as the rest of the team gathered around, just as curious.

"Nobody had heard from him for a few days, so I decided to go check up on him. He hadn't grabbed his paper since he got home on Friday, and none of his neighbors had seen him, so I expected the worst. He didn't answer, so I kicked the door down and I looked around the apartment. It- it was a total mess. Not what you'd expect from neat freak Spencer. There were books and clothes everywhere, his bed wasn't made, his sink was full of dirty dishes… very uncharacteristic. He wasn't anywhere that I could see, and the bathroom door was closed," he quickly swallowed the lump growing in his throat and fought back tears, "so I busted the door down and… there he was. He um," he cleared his throat, "sorry, he was in his bathtub, and he'd gashed open his wrist. He wasn't responsive, but he was still alive, so I got him out, put pressure on his wrist, and I called Garcia. EMT said if I'd gotten there a few minutes later, he wouldn't have made it."

He wanted to look up at the team for reactions, but he couldn't. He knew what they would be. Hotch and Rossi would do their best to stay strong for the team. Garcia? She'd be crying, and he hated to see her upset. JJ would be shaking and focusing on something on the distance, and Emily would be attempting to talk to her, holding back her own tears.

"What did we do wrong, Hotch?" Morgan asked softly, looking down at his lap. "We're profilers, we should've seen the signs of this. We don't deserve our jobs if we couldn't even see that one of our own was so upset he was ready to take his own life."

Hotch, for the first time in a long time, had no immediate answer. All he could do was rub his back. "We have to remember that he's a profiler too. As great as we are at detecting problems and emotions? We're just as good at hiding them from the world." He squeezed Derek's shoulder reassuringly. "We just all need to be there for him. When he comes out of this, we can't accuse him or constantly berate him, asking him why. He needs to know he has a support system in place for himself, and we need to be that, understood?"

He looked around at the team, who all nodded in silent agreement. Now, they had to play the godawful waiting game.

Hotch sat back in his chair, wondering about the 'what if's. What if he'd paid more attention to Spencer, or took the time out of his day to check on him? What if he'd sat next to him on the flights for a change, instead of taking the seat beside Rossi all the time? What if, instead of cutting off his rambling, he'd listened and been interested? Would they still be here?


	4. Chapter 4

"Was there a note?" JJ whispered, her eyes closed.

Derek looked over at her. It hadn't occurred to him to try looking for one. His priority was Spencer living through this. "I… I didn't check," he admitted, reaching over and grabbing her hand, squeezing it. "But, we don't need to know if there was. He's going to walk out of here and it doesn't matter what he put into a note."

"Yes, it does," she said, shoving his hand away. "Obviously something was going on his head that was so bad he felt the need to take his life. If he put it into words, I think we deserve to know what he had to say."

He sighed and Rossi spoke up. "I'll check his apartment. Maybe clean up the mess while I'm there. What's his address?"

"412 Washington Street, Apartment 23," Garcia spoke up, focusing on a tile on the floor, her chin in her hand.

He turned to Hotch. "If there are any updates-"

Hotch nodded silently. "I'll call you."

He took the keys out of his pocket and walked out.

* * *

When Rossi pulled up to the apartment building, parking, he got out and took the stairs two at a time. He looked around the apartment for any signs of a note: he checked the bedroom, the living room table, the couch, and the kitchen. He finally found a thick envelope on the bathroom counter, with 'I'm sorry' written on the front. He closed his eyes, sighing, and opened it. Inside were several smaller envelopes, one addressed to each member of the team. He shook his head, setting the envelope down and grabbing cleaning supplies from under the sink. He rolled up his sleeves, filled a bucket with warm water and pulled on a pair of gloves, kneeling down and scrubbing the tub clean. At the hospital, he had stayed strong for the team, but now he let the tears fall. Maybe if he'd listened to Spencer's enthusiastic rambles about his writing instead of constantly interrupting him or acting annoyed, this wouldn't have happened.

Once it was cleaned out, he ran the hot water, watching the pink water go down the drain. He threw the cleaning supplies back under the sink, taking off the gloves and tossing them in the bucket. He eyed the envelope on the counter, unsure if he should bring it with them. Yes, they wanted answers, but he didn't know if this was the right way to get them. If they read all the letters, he felt they'd be treating him like a victim, or just another case. Spencer was far from that, and he was a member of their family. He sighed, grabbing the envelope off the counter and taking out his car keys, walking out to his car and calling Hotch.

Hotch took his phone out of his pocket. Seeing that it was Rossi, he answered immediately.

"Hotchner."

Rossi started his car, setting the envelope on his passenger seat. He ran a hand over his face. "There are notes, Hotch. One for everyone."

He did his best to keep his language undetectable, so nobody would be alerted or alarmed. "I see."

"I'm on my way back to the hospital now. I'm not sure these are the answers we want, Hotch. These letters are like reading his journals. Shouldn't we just wait and see what he has to say?"

Hotch chose his words carefully. "I don't believe so."

Rossi sighed, buckling himself in. "I'll be back there in ten." He hung up, tossing the phone on top of the envelope and driving.

* * *

He got back to the hospital to see that nobody had moved from their seats. They all sat there in silence: not talking, not taking notice of each other, and not comforting each other. He got Hotch's attention and he got up, walking over to him.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Rossi whispered. "With how JJ lost her sister? This could take her down a road we don't want to see. With Garcia having no family and Reid being her little brother? We could lose her fun bubbly personality. Not to mention Morgan, who had to find him that way. How's he going to take this?"

Hotch looked at his elder. "I understand that, but people deal with things differently. We need to at least give them the option to see what he has to say."

Rossi handed him the envelope, tucking his own note into his jacket pocket.

Hotch walked over, sitting around his team. JJ took notice of the envelope and sighed. "He did?"

Hotch nodded, opening the envelope and pulling out five separate envelopes. "One for everyone on the team."

Garcia gasped softly. "You mean he already said goodbye?"

Morgan looked around at his team. "Do we read them?"

* * *

JJ didn't wait for a response, reaching over and grabbing the envelope with her name on it, walking to the other side of the waiting room and curling up in a chair, ripping open the envelope. She took out the letter, unfolding it and reading it to herself.

_Jennifer_. She choked up at the use of her first name.

_I'm so sorry. I know that your sister left you, and I hate to do this to you, too, but you at least deserve an explanation why. First off, I want to thank you for taking me in as a little brother, and helping me feel included in your family. Not having one of my own, it was great to feel like I mattered for a change. Also, thank you for going to the Redskins game with me for my 24__th__ birthday. I really enjoyed your company, and reading up on the game prior to it so I could keep up with your constant cheering and yelling at the refs. Thank you for making me the godfather to your son, and I'm sorry I've let him down too. There's a book designed for situations like this, _When Bad Things Happen,_ and I'd appreciate if you would read it to him. Let him know that I love him and that I'm sorry I couldn't be there to watch him grow up._

_Now, to the point of my letter. I'm really sorry to leave you like this. It was never my intention to hurt you in anyway, but I just can't stand to sit around and go unnoticed anymore. Everyone seems more annoyed with me than anything, and I fail to see a point in continuing to live this life of neglect and feeling like I'm the butt of the joke. I hope you can cope with this and eventually forget me, I'm sure it won't be too hard. Just remember to keep smiling, the world deserves to see you smile._

_Spence_

She closed the letter, biting her lip and sniffing. She felt responsible, because there had been several occasions where Spencer tried explaining something to her, and she brushed him off, changing the subject or walking away. She was also the one on the team who sat back at the station with him the most, and should've known that he was hiding something. She blinked, finally letting her tears fall.

* * *

Garcia glanced down at the envelope in her hands. He'd written 'Penelope' on the front of it, a name he'd never called her. She took a deep breath, ripping the envelope open and taking out her letter. Seeing how JJ reacted, she wasn't sure she wanted to do this, but she felt as if she had to.

_Penelope,_

_Thank you for being the one person on the team who was always able to put a smile on my face. I could always count on you for some happiness, no matter how temporary. I want you to remember how much you matter to everyone on the team, including myself. You are the glue that holds this family together, and I know I can count on you to be there for everyone in this tough time. I hope that your bubbly personality and stay around, and that you don't mourn so much that you lose a bit of yourself. I promise, I'm not worth the struggle._

_I hope that you can be there for Henry. You're the only godparent he has left now, and he's going to need you to be there for him. I was never much to him anyway – nobody can compare to you and how much you love children. I hope that, one day, you can have a child of your own, and I can watch over and see you as a mother. You'd definitely be perfect._

_The world needs more people like you, Penelope Garcia, and I sincerely wish that you can find some light in these dark times._

_Spencer_

_Aka your Boy Wonder, junior G-man, and 187_

She was completely numb. She didn't have it in her to start crying or show any emotion. She sat there, frozen in her seat, unsure of how to react. She folded the letter, stuffing it into her purse, a heavy feeling in her gut that she could've somehow prevented this.

* * *

Emily was the next to open her letter. She'd never been especially close to Spencer, and wondered if he'd even had anything to say to her. She'd come into the team after their family was already established, and never felt any sort of closeness to him. Still, she ran a finger along the envelope and tore it open, taking out the letter inside.

_Emily,_

_First and foremost, I want to apologize to you. I never really made a proper introduction, and feel as if I never really made you feel welcome. You definitely were, and you're a real asset to this team. I also want to apologize for the way I acted toward you when I was going through withdrawals. I was extremely judgmental and snapped at you constantly, and you didn't deserve that. I was also cold and distant after you came back from hiding, and I apologize for that as well. I never meant any of the bad-mannered words I gave to you, and you're worth more than any insult I gave. _

_I thank you for the times you've protected me. When we faced Benjamin Cyrus, you were brave enough to step forward and admit you were a federal agent when I was too scared to do so. You took one hell of a beating that I deserved, and I can never thank you enough for that. Thank you for letting me confide in you when I had my headaches. Though you never did check up on them, I've gotten them under control, for the most part. _

_You're a strong, fiercely independent woman, and the team is extremely lucky to have you. I hope that, since you compartmentalize the best, you can be there for the team members that need it, especially JJ and Garcia. It's going to be hard for them to cope, and I hope you're there for them. Derek's going to need it too, though he's too proud to admit it. Please be there for him._

_Thank you for everything you've taught me, and everything you've showed me. Stay strong._

_Spencer_

She wasn't sure she was worth the apology that Spencer was giving her. He was obviously hung up on how he had behaved toward her, but she'd completely forgotten about how upset he'd been. She wished she'd had the opportunity to let him know that she never doted on anything he said, and been able to include him more, to show him that he was the biggest asset the team had.

Hotch and Rossi kept their envelopes tucked in their jackets, no desire to read the words and get upset in front of the team. Hotch knew that, as the team leader, he had to remain strong and be there for everyone else if they needed him. Rossi, on the other hand, didn't want to start looking at Spencer as a victim. He wanted to remember him for everything he'd done for the team, and not dote on the words he'd written down as a goodbye.

* * *

Morgan battled within himself to make the decision to read the letter. He cared about Spencer like the younger brother he'd never had, and still couldn't wrap his head around why he would do this. He finally made the decision, opening the envelope and pulling the letter out, unfolding it.

_Derek,_

_Somehow I knew you'd be the one to find me. First, I want to apologize for that. I never wanted to hurt you or make you upset. I just needed a quick and easy way to get away from it all. I couldn't handle being everybody's afterthought anymore, and I promise you, I'm sincerely sorry you had to find me this way. I've felt like this for a while, and I promise, there's nothing you could've done or said to change my mind._

_The first thing I want to do is thank you for taking me under your wing. Though you teased me, you made me feel welcome at the BAU, and made me feel as if I was always protected. You were there for me after Hankel, and after the Anthrax scare. You were the one member of the team who seemed to give a damn about me, and would always talk to me when I needed it. I'm sorry it wasn't enough, but I want to specify that this __wasn't__your fault. It's all mine, and please, don't blame yourself._

_I want to ask a favor, though I know it's ridiculous to do so after what I've put you through. In my apartment is all of the information for my savings account. I want you to send all the money to Bennington, to keep my mother safe. I also have a letter that needs to be sent to her, if I really did succeed. It's in the top drawer in my bedroom, already stamped and addressed. Please send it to her. She needs to know why I did this._

_To be completely honest, I wanted a much quicker way. I wish I'd used my gun – the unsubs have made it look so easy. At the pull of a trigger, it would've been over. I didn't have it in me, and I couldn't have done that to you. I'd much rather you find me this way. _

_If I somehow do make it through this, I don't want the team to pity me, and I don't want to be treated like a victim. I hope you can all continue as you have been, and just ignore me as you always have. My emotions and thoughts have always taken a backseat, and I hope that continues. I don't want anyone to dote over me or worry over my well-being. There are much more important things to worry about in your own lives. _

_Thank you for everything, especially being the older brother I never had._

_Spencer_

He closed the letter, exhaling, swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat and blinking back tears. He pushed himself out of his chair, pacing the waiting room, running a hand over his scalp and sighing.

* * *

"Morgan," Hotch started, unsure of what to say to console him, but knowing he needed something.

"He'd been contemplating this for years, Hotch. _Years_. And you're telling me a team of profilers didn't see a single thing wrong? I don't care how good he is at hiding his emotions. One of us should've noticed that something was up with him and he wasn't right in the head. We should all turn in our credentials right now for sucking at our jobs that much."

"I understand you're upset-"

"He wrote individual suicide letters, saying goodbye to every single member of this team. I had to find him a bloody fucking mess in his bathtub. I had to be sure he didn't succeed. I had to ride along in that ambulance and be sure he didn't die back there. I think it's safe to say I'm a little more than upset."

The rest of the team looked at each other. Never before had Derek displayed his emotions in front of them. Instead, he kept them locked up inside and was strong for everybody else.

Hotch rose from his seat, and with no words, wrapped his arms around Derek. He sighed, rubbing his back. "It's okay to let it out, Derek. You're upset, and you're allowed to be."

Derek bent down, resting his head on Hotch's shoulder, and finally started crying. He wished he'd been able to read Spencer's emotions and prevent this from ever happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Spencer heard a faint beeping sound, but ignored it, attempting to sleep. He'd wanted an end to it all, and he was going to find it. When the beeping only got louder, he internally groaned. When he'd died in the shed with Hankel, it had happened so easily. He'd seen the light and that had been it. Why was it so complicated this time?

As the beeping got more defined, he sighed, opening his eyes. He hadn't died at all –he was in a hospital. The beeping sound he heard was monitors, and he felt a cannula tube under his nose. He also felt an IV in his arm, probably for blood. He then sighed, looking down at his wrist: it had been stitched up and bandaged. Suddenly, he felt several emotions: guilt, stupidity, anger, and nerves. How had he ended up at the hospital? How had they been able to save him? He'd read up on the human body plenty of times, and should've been able to finish the job successfully.

When a doctor came in, he stayed quiet, not wanting to talk about what he did or why he did it. It should've been obvious: he'd wanted to end his life. There wasn't anything else to it. He didn't want to answer questions about how he was feeling and explain himself. Instead, he just wanted to go home and continue living this life he was miserable in. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd go back to the job and get hurt by an unsub, to save himself the trouble of doing it to himself again.

"Spencer, your friends are here to see you, can I let them in?" his doctor asked, attempting to get some sort of answer from him.

Spencer thought to himself. Friends? He didn't have any friends. He had people he'd play chess with in the park on occasion, but they never traded names. He also talked to the people at the coffee shop, but they only knew his name from giving it for his coffee order in the morning. Maybe the doctor had meant his team. They weren't really friends, just people who felt obligated to care about him. He avoided the doctor's eyes, but nodded.

Once the doctor left his room, he glanced at his wrist again. If he'd just gone a little deeper, he wouldn't be here right now. He'd have been successful and able to avoid the awkward conversations he was about to have. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow and sighing.

* * *

His doctor walked out to the waiting room. "Who's here for Spencer Reid?"

Derek was the first to get out of his seat, walking over with the rest of the team following. "How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's stabilized. He's weak and hasn't said anything, but I'm sure some company would help."

"So we can see him?" Garcia asked, hopeful.

He nodded. "Not too long. He needs his rest. Down the hall, third room on the left."

As the rest of the team walked to the room, Derek stayed, looking at his doctor.

"What's going to happen to him?"

His doctor sighed. "In cases like these, we usually discharge them, or have them hospitalized for a short period of time. Since he's not talking and seems to be in a dark place, we may need to keep him hospitalized."

"No," Derek immediately responded. "The one thing he wouldn't want in this world is to stay in a hospital and be treated like a victim. If you keep him in here, or lock him up, he _will_ get worse and he _will_ keep trying until he's successful."

"He'll be here for a few hours, and after that, we'll attempt to discuss his follow-up plan. If he refuses to speak to us-"

"Then you can check with me, and I'll be sure he goes along with it." This wasn't a question or suggestion, it was a demand. Before giving the doctor a chance to respond, he walked to Spencer's room, leaning against the doorframe.

* * *

The reactions of the team were as Spencer had expected. They all stood around, unsure of what to do or say in the situation. They'd talked to suicidal victims plenty of times, but weren't sure how to react when it was one of their own. Spencer sat up in his bed, crossing his legs under himself, looking down at his lap. He didn't want to look at any of them, and see the pained expressions on their faces. He just wished he'd been successful and could avoid this awkward tension. He reached over, grabbing his chart from the foot of his bed and looking through. They'd avoided giving him any narcotics, which he was thankful for. At least withdrawals wasn't something he'd have to go through again.

Emily was the first to finally speak up. "How are you feeling, Reid?"

Everyone looked over at her, glad that she'd been brave enough to speak, and then they turned to Spencer, hoping he'd give an answer.

He shrugged, unable to look up at them. He wished they'd stop pretending they cared and just move on with their lives, forgetting about him as they always had.

JJ bit her lip, moving over toward his bed. She sat beside him, and without a single word, wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug and rubbing his back. He didn't need questions or people wondering why he did what he did. All he needed was comfort and to know that people were there for him. When he tried to pull back, she shook her head, pulling him in closer and squeezing him tight. She snaked one of her hands up, running it through his hair and humming softly.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to this. He'd only been held like this once before, by his mother when he was eight years old and had a fever. He knew that he wasn't sick, and wondered why JJ was holding him like this. Instead of questioning it, he allowed it to happen, hooking his chin on her shoulder and looking down at the bed.

She sniffed, rubbing his back and humming. She said no words, mainly because she had none to say. She just sat there with her arms wrapped around him, squeezing him and never wanting to let go again. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, they were family, and she'd be damned if another member of her family left her.

* * *

A while later JJ pulled back, placing a kiss on his cheek. Inside he wished she hadn't, and was actually somewhat enjoying the closeness. She gave him a quick look in the eyes, silently letting him know that she was there for him. She ran a hand through his hair and stood up, wiping her eyes.

"Reid," Hotch started, "is there someone in here you'd like to talk to? The rest of us could leave the room, give you the privacy you need."

Spencer thought about it for a moment, wondering who it was on the team he could genuinely open up to. He didn't want to talk to JJ, because she'd already been through enough pain involving suicide. He didn't want to talk to Garcia, because he couldn't stand to be the one to make her upset, more than he already had, anyway. He thought about talking to Emily, but she already looked upset enough about the situation. Finally, he chose somebody, the one person in the room who deserved to hear an explanation.

"Derek," he whispered softly, the first word he'd spoken to any of them since Friday.

Everyone turned to look at Derek, who seemed just as surprised as they were. One by one, they turned to Spencer, either hugging him or patting his back. Garcia planted a kiss on his cheek, quickly wiping the lipstick off with an apology before walking out.

Finally, it was just Spencer and Derek alone in the room. Derek sighed, turning to him. "Would you like me to get your doctor in here, so you don't have to tell the story twice?"

Spencer swallowed and nodded, taking a deep breath and sighing.

"I'll be right back…"

When there was no response, he walked out.

Spencer sighed, alone with his thoughts. He'd never hated himself more than he did in this very moment. He'd wanted to be successful just so he could avoid this. He hated seeing their pained expressions, and trying to figure out what they could say to him. He wished he'd been able to go back in time and finish the job, so he could just get out of this. He pushed his hair back, sniffing and wiping his eyes.

* * *

Before walking into the room, Derek turned to his doctor.

"He's a very quiet person, and it's very likely he's going to open up and say a lot of things he doesn't want to admit. I'm going to need you to stay quiet and let him get it all out. If he's interrupted, he's going to close back up and go back into his mind, and we both know if that happens, he's going back to that place. I know you run things differently, but if you want your answers, you're going to have to trust me. You just need to sit back and observe whatever he says, and not ask any questions. Understood?"

The doctor nodded, following him into the room, leaning against the wall while Derek walked over, taking the seat beside Spencer's bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip, unsure of how to start this conversation. He bit down on his lip he didn't notice as trembling and fidgeted with his hands, picking at his fingernails.

"Thank you," he whispered, still looking down at his lap.

Derek looked up at him. "Anytime, Pretty Boy. You know I'm always here for you."

He sighed, glancing at his bandaged wrist. "When did you find me?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to answer this question. He took out his phone, checking his outgoing calls. "I um, I called Garcia right after I pulled you out of the tub, and that was at 2:47 p.m."

Spencer blinked back tears. "My estimated time of death was 2:50, based on how I was bleeding out. I know what you want to ask, Derek, go ahead."

"Okay… Spencer, why did you do it?"

* * *

He took a deep breath, sighing. "Everybody on this team has somebody to lean on when they need it. Hotch and Rossi have each other, because they've both lost wives and tried to get back in the game. You and Garcia have each other, because you've both lost parents and are able to bring out the best in each other. Emily and JJ have each other, because as profilers, they both feel like they have something to prove. With a team of seven, obviously there's going to be an odd man out, it's nobody's fault and it just happens. Considering the way everyone paired up, that left me alone. After cases, Hotch and Rossi would go home, you and Garcia would catch a movie, and Emily and JJ either went to their homes or out shopping together. Nobody would ever check on me, to see how I was handling the cases or just to see how I was doing."

Derek wanted to interrupt, but knew this was Spencer's time to talk and get everything off his chest. Despite what instinct told him, he sat back, letting Spencer talk.

He closed his eyes, twisting his fingers in the blanket on his bed. "I guess I just, I never found my place. Throughout my life, I was the odd man out, and I guess I sort of hoped when I was pulled into the BAU early, that would go away. In the beginning it did, but then things would happen and everyone would be more concerned about the other team members. After that LDSK case where Hotch kicked me to distract the unsub? I um, I ended up with bruised ribs and nobody took notice. Then after Hankel? I was in the hospital with a sprained ankle and stitches in my head, and JJ came, but only to pick me up from the hospital. I took a week off because Hotch had made me, and in that time? Nobody checked in or asked, and when I came back to work? You and Emily were too preoccupied talking about Kurt Vonnegut to check in, so I limped around and I kept my mouth shut. Even when I stayed on Dilaudid as a cry for help, nobody even turned their head in my direction."

Derek sighed. None of this was true: they were all extremely concerned about him after every single case. After the LDSK case, he had called the hospitals to see if Spencer had admitted himself for injuries he kept hidden from the team. After Tobias Hankel, the team stayed with him in shifts, and they happened to be between shifts when he finally woke up a day later. When they'd gotten home, they all decided to give him his space, because they weren't sure how he'd react to company. When he'd stayed on Dilaudid, the entire team was concerned about him, but none of them wanted to be the one to finally confront him about it.

"I could go on about this. After Gideon left, everyone knew I had been closest to him, but nobody took me aside to ask how I'd taken it, and when Emily did, she was more accusing me than anything. When Emily and I had gone undercover, you and I had been right there when the bomb went off, but nobody bothered to check and see how I'd handled it, instead checking on her. It's understandable, considering she'd actually taken a beating, but it would've been nice to actually feel included. I think the one that probably hurt the most was the Anthrax poisoning. I really thought I was going to die that day, and I wanted my chance to say goodbye to everyone, to do it properly." He shrugged, wiping his eyes and swallowing. "But you were the only person to call aside from Garcia, and let's be honest, that was just for information. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I felt myself slipping and I thought back on everything. That's when the thoughts about all of this started. I woke up in that hospital and you were the only person there, and that pretty much confirmed what I'd thought all along: nobody else on the team gave a single damn whether I lived or died that day, so long as they saved everyone else."

Derek could swear he felt his heart breaking for Spencer. After the Anthrax scare, he'd been answering his phone every few minutes, phone calls from the team members constantly coming in. He'd thought Spencer wouldn't want the team to see him that way and told them to stay away, and promised he'd stick by him the whole time. To know that moment started his suicidal thoughts was something he wouldn't easily forget.

"And then, I opened up, I told you and Emily something I didn't tell anybody else in the world. I told you about my headaches, hoping that someone would at least check in on me once in a while, be sure that I was still there. But I told you and neither of you said anything to me again. It hurt, but it wasn't unexpected. It pretty much confirmed my thoughts that nobody on the team really did care. I just, I kept working, hoping that I could do something to make the team proud of me and get some sort of recognition, but it never came. "

"All last week, I contemplated it. How I was going to do it, where I'd do it… and it seemed most logical in the bathtub. It would produce the least mess for whoever had to find me. I'm… I'm sorry that you had to find me. I was hoping I'd be gone so we wouldn't be here, having this conversation, and you'd go to my funeral, say your goodbyes and move on with your life." He sniffed, blinking back his tears. "I hope I didn't emotionally scar you too badly from this. I never intended to hurt anyone. I just wanted the pain to go away."

* * *

Derek wasn't sure what sort of reaction Spencer was looking for, but did the one thing that came to mind. He got up, sitting on the edge of Spencer's bed, wrapping his arms around him and rubbing his back, rocking him slowly. "You're here for a reason, Spencer. You survived this because you're _supposed _to be here. This team needs you, and you need us. I promise you that we're never going to let you feel this way again."

Spencer sniffed, burying his head in Derek's shoulder. All he could do was whisper an 'I'm sorry' before he finally let himself cry his heart out.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for in this situation. I'm going to be here for you through this, I promise."

Spencer sniffed. "D-don't let them lock me up, Derek," he sobbed against his shoulder.

Derek sighed, finally letting his own tears fall and rubbing Spencer's back. "I won't let that happen to you. I won't let you be hospitalized, even if I have to sit by your side every step of recovering from this. I won't let them do that to you. Do you understand?"

Spencer sniffed, nodding slightly against his shoulder.

* * *

A while later, the doctor looked at Spencer. "We're not going to keep you here, but we are going to have to come up with your follow-up plan: set you up with a therapist, put you on medication for your thoughts, and give you the numbers for some crisis lines you can call if these thoughts come back."

Spencer sighed, but nodded, playing with the material on his blanket. "Thank you," he said softly, keeping his eyes down.

"I also need you to think about who you want as your allies. Most people who attempt are able to build a support system of allies who can help them, should these thoughts ever return. Some people choose one ally, though this is definitely a situation where more could be better."

"What do they need to do?" he asked. He didn't want to inconvenience any of them more than he already had, wasting their day and making them sit in the waiting room.

"Mostly? You need to talk about your feelings and thoughts with them, being completely honest. Give them a call if you feel yourself getting upset, have them help you stick to a routine, remove anything you can harm yourself with from your environment, monitor your medication intake so there's no danger of overdosing. It also helps to do your research on mental illness."

His head snapped up. "I'm not crazy."

Derek knew this was a turning point in the conversation, and not a good one. "That's enough. Is he free to go home?"

His doctor looked between the two men. "I'll prepare the paperwork."


	7. Chapter 7

After the doctor left the room, he turned to Spencer who still seemed upset by the doctor bringing up mental illness.

"Do you want me to get the rest of the team so you can talk to them?"

He bit his lip. "Don't leave."

"I'll be right here, I promise." He took out his phone, texting Hotch.

_He wants to see everyone_.

* * *

Hotch looked down at his phone. "Reid wants us."

The rest of the team looked around at each other.

"Did he find out we know about the letters?" Garcia asked.

"Morgan wasn't very specific, he just said that Reid wants to see us."

"If he's going to apologize, I don't want to hear it," JJ started. They all looked over at her. "What? No, I don't want to hear it. Is that so wrong of me? I don't want to hear him pitying himself and trying to justify this. It's our faults and I don't need it rubbed in." She pushed herself out of the chair, making her way to the door.

Before she made it, Emily sprung up from her chair, walking over and wrapping her arms around her, rubbing her back. "This isn't your fault, JJ. And you can't let him think that. He needs us for support. We've been in these shoes how many times before with victims?"

"He's _not_ a victim," JJ snapped. "He is one of us and we should've seen this. We should've noticed he was acting differently. I don't care how damn good we are at our jobs. We needed to be better."

Emily pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. "We need to treat him the same as we always have, if not better. He needs you to be calm when we go in there. Can you do that?"

She pulled back, wiping her eyes. "_I'm_ not a victim, Em."

She smiled slightly. "No, you're not. We need you to calm down though."

JJ took a deep breath, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Hotch asked.

She nodded, pushing back her emotions and putting on her best poker face. "Positive."

* * *

Before the team made it to the room, Derek looked at him. "Pretty Boy, you're more than welcome to come stay with me for a couple of days. Just until your head is back on straight."

Spencer bit his lip. "You mean 'so you don't try to kill yourself again'?"

Derek sighed. "I just want you to be in a place where you're comfortable, and I don't think going back to the place where you… for lack of a better word, attempted, is best for you right now."

Spencer wiped his eyes, nodding. "I-I just need to stop by my apartment for some clothes."

"I can send somebody else. You don't have to go back there until you're ready."

He nodded again, tracing the stitches under his bandage. By the different grooves, he counted fourteen. Fourteen stitches across his wrist to close the gash. He cursed his stupidity in his head as the rest of the team walked into the room.

* * *

As they all looked at him, he looked down at the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

"You found them, didn't you? That's why your body language is off. You read the letters."

They all looked around at each other and JJ finally spoke up. "We didn't know if you were going to make it, and we needed our answers."

He sighed. "If it's any consolation, I meant every word. I never wanted to hurt any of you. I just wanted my own pain to end. I didn't consider what it would do to you, and I'm sorry." He wiped his eyes, biting his lip. "I never wanted to cause you the pain that I felt inside, and I hope you can forgive me for what I did."

Rossi looked over at him. "Are you feeling any better? Did you get any clarity from it?"

"I had a different experience," he whispered, "last time I saw the light and felt warmth, but this time, it was just… numb, like everything I felt had washed away and I had the feeling that I didn't have to suffer in silence anymore."

"You never have to again, Reid," Garcia said. "We're here and we're not going away, no matter how much you ask us too. Especially me, you're stuck with me for life, mister."

He gave his first smile they'd seen in a while, which they would gladly admit warmed their hearts. "I, I um, I actually need to talk to you all. If you don't want to stick around for this, I understand. I'm at my lowest point in life and need to build my way back up, and I can't do that alone. The doctor suggested that I create a network of allies, or people I can talk to if I get near this point again, and clear away anything I can harm myself with. It's not going to be easy, and I'm not going to hold it against anyone if you choose to walk away right now." He bit down on his lip, sighing. "And I understand if you want me off the team. If you agree to it, I'll put in my resignation, effective immediately and get out. I won't be offended, I promise."

Hotch shook his head. "I speak for everyone when I say that you will always be a part of this team, and a member of our families. We're more than willing to help in any way we can."

He couldn't stop himself from crying again and JJ sat beside him, rubbing his back. "You can stay with me until you get back on your feet. I'm sure Henry would love to see his Uncle Spen every day."

"I… I wouldn't want to do that to you. I don't want you to take any attention away from Henry to take care of me." He saw Hotch ready to speak up. "Or you to take time away from Jack. You need all the time you can get with them. Besides, I really don't want to explain what I did to them."

Derek spoke up. "He's going to stay with me as long as he wants, and I'm going to regulate his medications and take care of him."

"I don't need someone to take care of me," Spencer snapped. "If I needed that, they'd lock me up in here with the rest of the crazies." JJ reached over, squeezing his hand. "I just, I need a support system in place."

"And you have it," Rossi said, patting his shoulder. "I'll stop by your apartment, pick up some clothes and a few things for when you're staying with Derek." He took his keys out of his pocket. "I'll drop them off at your apartment," he finished, looking at Derek, who nodded.

"Everyone, take the long weekend," Hotch started, looking around at the team. "You could all use it. I'll see you back at work on Monday." He focused his attention on Spencer. "All of you."

Spencer's eyes lit up. "…Really?"

"You're still a member of this team, and you always will be. I'll see you on Monday."

Spencer knew he couldn't move from his bed, being hooked up to the monitors and IV, but he held out his arms to his superior. Hotch couldn't help his smirk, leaning in and wrapping his arms around Spencer, patting his back.

"Get some sleep tonight."

He nodded, and the rest of the team said their goodbyes to him, promising him they'd talk to him soon.

* * *

When he was finally discharged, his doctor handed him several pamphlets and an appointment card to see his therapist. He put them into his pocket, nodding. He signed his discharge forms and turned to Derek, who had Hotch and Rossi grab his car from Spencer's apartment building.

"Are you sure about this? You can just drop me off at my place and I'll fend for myself."

Derek shook his head, walking out to the parking lot. "It's fine. You just have to deal with Clooney at my place."

He got in the car, buckling his seatbelt. "And if he doesn't like me, you can take me home."

"You're not getting away from me that easy." He closed the door and got in, buckling himself in. "I have a guest room that my mother and sisters stay in when they visit. You're more than welcome to sleep there, or you can have the pull-out couch."

"Anything's fine," Spencer said, attempting to pull the hospital bracelet off of his wrist.

Derek started the car, pulling out of the spot and driving. "When is your appointment?"

Spencer hadn't even thought to look. He dug the card out of his pocket, flipping it over. "Tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you need a ride?"

He nodded slightly, tucking the card back in his pocket. "Did Rossi bring my things by the apartment?"

"Mhm." He didn't bother to tell him that he'd also hidden the knives and other sharp objects in a locked cabinet, because he didn't want him to feel like he'd inconvenienced him in any way.

* * *

They'd stopped by the pharmacy on the way to the apartment to pick up his prescription. He pulled up to his apartment and got out, walking around to open his door.

"You don't have to do this, Derek," he said, getting out and pulling his wrist into his shirt sleeve.

"You're more than welcome as long as you need it."

Spencer followed him up to the apartment and after getting inside, backed against a wall when Clooney ran up to him.

"It's okay. he's just getting to know you."

Spencer bit his lip, picking up his bag off the couch. "Guest room?"

"First room on the right. Half-bath is attached to it."

He nodded, walking to the guest room and dropping his bag. After kicking off his shoes, he curled up on the bed, pulling the blankets over his head, and falling asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan sat on the couch, scratching Clooney behind the ears when his phone started ringing. He quickly grabbed it, checking the caller ID and answering.

"Hey, Baby Girl."

She smiled slightly. "Hey yourself. How's my favorite genius doing?"

"He's currently out cold in the guest room. He was barely in the apartment five minutes before he fell asleep."

"At 7? Poor guy, it's been a long day for him. Has he said anything?"

"He tried to tell me that he doesn't need my generosity and that he'd be fine sitting in his apartment, then tried using Clooney as an excuse for not staying here."

"You didn't believe any of those excuses, did you? Derek Morgan, he can't be alone right now. He needs his family."

"I didn't. He's fine. He just really needs his support system right now."

"Where are the knives in your house?"

"Locked in a cabinet to which only I have the combination."

"And any prescription bottles?"

"Locked in said cabinet."

She sighed. "What if this doesn't work, Derek? What if we're there for him and he still wants to do this to himself? Do you know that Hotch and Rossi couldn't even bring themselves to read their letters in front of the team? We're all worried about him and what if we're there and he just… he does it again?"

"Calm down, Baby Girl. We're going to be there for him as much as we can, and if he even thinks about it again, he knows he can talk to one of us to get through it. He's smart, he knows what he can do."

"Take good care of him, promise me."

"I promise. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Send him my love when he wakes up."

"I will." He hung up the phone, sighing, looking into the guest room. Spencer was curled up in a ball on the middle of the bed, his wrist wrapped around his stomach. He wouldn't tell Garcia, or anyone on the team, but he was just as worried as the rest of them, if not more.

* * *

When Spencer heard his phone ringing, he leaned over the side of his bed, digging through his bag and taking it out. Before checking the caller ID, he answered.

"Hello?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"…I'm sorry, Spence, did I wake you?"

He rubbed his eyes with his palm. "I'm fine, I needed to get up for a shower anyway. What's up?"

She smiled slightly. "I um, I told Henry that I saw you today and he was a bit jealous. He wants to know if he can talk to you before bedtime."

He raised an eyebrow. "Um, sure." He sat up on the bed, stretching slightly. "You didn't… did you?"

"He knows nothing, and I'm not telling him anything, I promise."

"Thank you." He attempted to pull the hospital bracelet off his wrist again, but it wasn't budging. "Where is the little guy anyway?"

"Right here, hold on a sec." She put the phone on speaker, sitting beside Henry. "It's Uncle Spen."

Henry took the phone. "Hi, Uncle Spen!"

Spencer smiled slightly, leaning against the pillows. "Hi, Henry. Are you being good for mommy and daddy?"

"Uh huh. Why mommy see you?"

He bit his lip, chewing on it. "I was on vacation and… I had to go to the doctor's today, and mommy came to visit me."

Henry pouted, looking up at her. "You okay?"

"I um, I'm fine, Henry. I just needed some medicine from the doctor. Hey, listen, how about once I get better, I watch you while mommy and daddy go out. I can read to you and we can watch movies. Would you like that?"

"A lot. Be better soon."

"I'll try, Henry, I promise. Can you put mommy on?"

"Okay, love you!" Henry handed the phone back to JJ. "For you."

Spencer sighed, wiping his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know he'd ask-"

"It's fine, really. Kids get curious, it happens." He sniffed. "I um, I'm going to get a shower and some sleep. I'll talk to you another time?"

"Yeah of course. Spence… Will and I are here for you anytime, even if you think it's a bother, it's not."

He chewed on his lip, sighing. "I know. Thank you."

* * *

He hung up the phone, setting it on the nightstand. He then buried his head in his hands, groaning.

"Everything okay in there, Spencer?"

He wiped his eyes, pushing himself off of the bed and digging through his bag. "I'm fine. Where's your shower?"

"Are you sure-" Derek started.

"That I want to take a shower? Yes. Just because I tried to kill myself in a bathtub doesn't take away my interest in hygiene." He pulled out his pajamas, tucking them under his arm and walking out to the living room. "Shower?"

"Next to my bedroom. Do you need-"

"I need to be left alone for ten minutes so I can clean off the smell of the hospital."

Derek sighed. "Do you want that hospital bracelet off your wrist first?"

"Considering you'd need to use a sharp object to get it off, no thank you."

Derek shook his head. "Just close your eyes and hold your wrist out."

"That ended well last time," he mumbled, holding out his wrist and squeezing his eyes shut. Derek got up, grabbing the scissors from the locked cabinet and walking back to the living room, snipping it off his wrist. He tucked the scissors in his back pocket and handed the bracelet to Spencer. "Done."

He looked at the bracelet in his hand. "Why would I want this?"

"Because it's a reminder that you've survived, and that you have people who care about you."

He sighed, stuffing it into his pocket. "The scar I'm going to have on my wrist will be reminder enough, thanks. I know you're going to anyway, but I'm giving you permission to check on me if I'm not out in ten minutes."

Derek nodded. "Enjoy your shower."

* * *

Later that night, Spencer had gone down easily. However, he didn't stay down. His mind was plaguing him with nightmares. One in particular, scared him more than anything.

He'd been successful in his attempt, and had to sit back, watching everyone react to his death. Hotch had resigned as unit chief and left the FBI: he hadn't been able to see the problems with Spencer, and felt he didn't deserve to keep his job for failing as a profiler. Garcia had lost her fun personality that everyone loved and kept to her lair. She'd even stopped calling people by pet names and going past the parameters to find answers, making everyone's jobs more difficult. JJ had become a shut-in, to the point where Will left with Henry, leaving her alone. Emily had taken a job overseas, needing to get away from the team and their constant sadness. Rossi had retired again not long after his suicide, drowning his sorrows in cigars and scotch. Derek had thrown himself into work, though he was assigned to a new team. He was chasing down unsubs single-handedly, and was chasing one in particular in this dream. Spencer whimpered, tossing and turning.

"Derek! Derek, look out. DEREK."

Derek shot out of bed, running to the guest room and shaking Spencer's arm. "Reid, it's just a dream, wake up."

Spencer looked up at him, panting. He sat up, burying his head in his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

Derek sighed, rubbing his back. "I'm right here, nothing's wrong, you were just dreaming."

"I… I actually did it. And Hotch quit and Garcia changed and JJ lost Henry and Emily left and Rossi got sick and you…"

Derek shook his head, rocking him gently. "It was just a dream, you're fine."

It had taken a half hour for Derek to finally calm down enough to lay back down and relax.

"If you need anything else, I'll be right in my room. My door's open for you."

Spencer bit his lip, nodding. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Derek reached over, turning off the light on his nightstand, and walked back to his room.

* * *

When Spencer woke up from several other nightmares, he knew sleep wasn't going to come easy to him that night. He woke up for the fifth time when he decided he needed a change. He got out of bed, walking to Derek's room. He saw he was fast asleep and didn't want to bother him. Instead, he climbed on the bed, curling up and pulling the blankets over his head.

Derek felt the sudden movement on the bed and assumed it was Clooney, jumping up to keep him company. When he saw a lump on his bed much bigger than his dog, it took a minute for him to remember he wasn't alone in the house. Rather than interrupting Spencer, he wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his back.

The rest of the night, Spencer didn't have a single nightmare.


	9. Chapter 9

At his appointment the next day, Spencer sat on the couch, his leg twitching. The last time he'd sat on a couch like this was when Hotch wanted him to talk about Emily being gone, and before that, when his father left. He wasn't the type of person to talk out his problems and wait for someone to fix them. He was somebody who internalized his issues and waited until he got over them. He kept his gaze down, sighing.

"Spencer?" his therapist asked, trying to get his attention.

"Hm?"

"Can you tell me why you're here today?"

He knew she had the clipboard in hand and was ready to make judgments on him he didn't care for. He sighed, exhaling and checking his watch. "Because nearly 24 hours ago, I tried to take my life, and as you can see, was unsuccessful."

"May I ask why you tried?"

He shrugged. "You may."

"Why did you try to take your own life?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, choosing his words. "I felt that I didn't have anybody to depend on. Everyone on my team at work seemed to rely on each other, and with there being seven people on the team obviously there's going to be somebody left out. A lot of things happened to me on the job, and I um, I felt as if nobody was really there for me. I finally reached a point where I decided nobody would miss me. I took a week off of work to get it done. It took me a few days to finally decide, but I grabbed the sharpest knife I had, curled up in the bathtub, and gashed my wrist." He held up his wrist that was stitched up.

"How are you here today?" she asked, leaning back in her own chair.

He bit down on his lip. "One of my coworkers decided to check on me. He kicked down my front door, then my bathroom door, and found me three minutes before I was going to die. He pulled me out, put pressure on my wrist, and got an ambulance to the house just in time."

"That's lucky."

He shrugged. "He happened to think about me at work and check on me. I wouldn't say it was lucky."

"What would you call it?"

"An auspicious coincidence."

He looked up as she continued to write down notes. "Are you at home again?"

He shook his head. "I can't… I'm not sure I can go back there yet. One of my coworkers cleaned up the area and straightened up the apartment, but I don't think I'm in a place where I can face myself there. I have an eidetic memory. I'd remember sitting in the armchair when I decided how I'd end my life. I'd remember looking through several books on the subject and tossing them on the floor when they weren't what I wanted to find. I'd remember not bothering to do the dishes, because I wouldn't be around to use them again. I'd go to take a shower or brush my teeth and remember sitting in the tub, closing my eyes, and slicing at my wrist until the pain started to go away. I know that eventually I might be able to go back there. That day just isn't today."

"So where are you currently staying, with a friend?"

"I actually _don't_ have any friends. I have a lot of casual acquaintances. None of them would know me well enough to actually welcome me into their homes. A few of my coworkers put out the offer for me to stay with them, but two of them that offered have their own families, and I didn't want to take any attention away from their children by making them feel I needed to be cared for. I actually took the offer to stay with my coworker who had to find me. I somewhat feel like I owe him something, and didn't want to turn him down."

"Is it helping?"

"It was only one night but I um. I started having really vivid nightmares of succeeding, and what the aftermath would be, and it hurt to see what I would've done to everyone that I've grown to care for over the years, even if they only feel the same way now because I tried to kill myself."

"I'm sure that's not true."

He went on, as if he wasn't interrupted. "But one nightmare was especially terrifying, and I woke up screaming and crying. Derek, he… he ran right in to check on me, calmed me down, made sure I'd be okay alone."

"How did that feel?"

"It… it felt good. Like I was wrong and there was somebody who did care and would be affected if something happened to me. And I was able to cry and get all my emotions out for a change instead of bottling them inside."

"Did you sleep well after that?"

"I um, I woke up a few more times with nightmares, and Derek had told me that I'd be able to see him if I needed anything, so I went to his room. He was asleep, so I just climbed on the bed with him, so I could have company. The nightmares stayed away the rest of the night."

"Do you think that maybe your reasoning wasn't neglect, but loneliness? You mentioned that your team paired up without you-"

He paused. "I never… I never really thought about it like that. I mean, everyone paired off and it hurt, but I concentrated on the fact that they put me on the backburner more than anything."

She looked over at the clock. "We've made a lot of progress today, but our time is up. Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

He thought to himself for a moment, then shook his head. "No, no thank you."

"Take care of yourself, Spencer, and I'll see you next week."

"…A week?"

"If you feel yourself panicking or you just need to talk, you can move up your appointment anytime."

He nodded, pushing himself off the couch and taking the appointment card from her. He threw his satchel over his shoulder and walked out to the waiting room.

* * *

Derek closed his magazine, looking up at him. "Ready to go?"

Spencer sighed, tucking the card into his bag. "You didn't have to sit around and wait. It was exactly an hour, you could've done something better with your time."

He shrugged, getting out of the chair. "I thought it'd be better for you to walk out and see someone waiting here for you. Do you want to talk?"

He bit his lip. "At your apartment? Please?"

Derek wrapped an arm around him, walking outside.

* * *

Back at the apartment, Spencer sat on the couch, twisting the cap of his water bottle on and off. Derek knew there was something he wanted to talk about, but didn't want to rush him into it. Instead, he sat on the other side of the couch, patiently waiting.

"I know why I did it," he whispered, looking down at his lap.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

He bit down on his lip. "I know why I did it. Why I tried to kill myself."

"I know, you told me yesterday. Because you felt neglected by the team."

He swallowed, wiping his eyes. "My therapist, she helped me realize it. I was alone… I had no family, no friends, nobody I could really depend on. When everyone else paired off, I was left to my own, dealing with my own emotions. Rather than bother anyone and take them from their pair, I chose to internalize all of my feelings and keep to myself. They finally built up to a point where I couldn't stand the thought of being by myself for another day. I… I took the week off so everyone could spend the time with the other half of their pair, and give them someone to lean on if I succeeded. There was a lot more thought behind it than I realized."

"All of that from one session?"

He nodded slightly. "But I still need to go back for several weeks. Unfortunately, there's no magical button to fix everything in a single session, or one to get rid of the thoughts and tendencies. If it were that easy, I could be out of your hair in no time."

"Spencer, I told you that you can stay as long as you need it, and I meant it."

He sighed. "I'm sorry for waking you up last night. And for ending up in your bed." He avoided his gaze, chewing on his lip. "I didn't sleep well alone in the guest room and I … you said I could come to you if anything was wrong, and you were asleep. I didn't want to be any more of an imposition, so I just laid down on the bed and fell asleep. It made the nightmares stay away, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I'll just… I'll learn to deal with the nightmares, I promise."

Derek sighed. "You do whatever you need to do to sleep at night. If that involves you not waking me and staying in my bed, so be it."

"Are you sure? If there's a problem, you can tell me. I won't be offended. I'm used to it, really."

He shook his head. "Until I say otherwise, it's not a problem."

Spencer sighed, nodding. "Thank you again, you know, for this. All these years on the team, and this is the first time I've actually felt, for lack of a better word, included. I just wish it were under better circumstances."

"That makes two of us, Pretty Boy."

* * *

Later that night, Spencer waited for Derek to fall asleep in his bedroom. Once he was sure he did, he slipped out of the bed in the guest room, walking to his room. He quietly snuck under the blankets, curling into a ball, his injured wrist wrapped around himself. Derek opened an eye and shook his head, reaching over and running a hand through Spencer's hair. He had to admit, sharing a bed with Spencer was a much more pleasant experience than sharing one with Clooney: he didn't hog the covers, take up a ton of space, or whine at the slightest movement. He continued the motion on Spencer's head until the smaller man finally peacefully dozed off. He wasn't how sure the road to recovery would last for him, but knew that he couldn't go through this alone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Follow-up to this story is coming soon, which includes Spencer's road to recovery and how he handles going back to work. I hope you liked this!

**Author's Note 2.0:** Follow-up has been posted - if you're interested, check out Road to Recovery.


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